The last thing I remembered was the blue glow of my laptop screen and the taste of instant noodles gone cold. A bug in my code had been mocking me for hours, refusing to submit to logic or brute force. I was about to fix it—or maybe collapse on my keyboard—when the world tilted sideways.
Then darkness.
When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't in my apartment. No peeling wallpaper, no secondhand chair threatening to snap, no overworked fan rattling like a dying drone. Instead, I was lying on silk sheets softer than any blanket I'd owned in my thirty years of life. The ceiling above me was carved stone, inlaid with glowing runes that pulsed like living constellations.
I sat up—and almost screamed. My hands weren't mine. Smaller. Softer. My skin was pale, unscarred by years of bad posture and endless typing. I stumbled to a mirror across the room and froze.
A child's face stared back. Ten years old, maybe. Dark hair, sharp eyes, and a faintly aristocratic nose that said, Yes, my ancestors definitely owned half this kingdom.
"Ah. Hell." I touched my reflection. "I've been isekai'd."
The door creaked open, and an older man stepped in—tall, broad-shouldered, with robes trimmed in silver threads that shimmered like lightning. His gaze softened when he saw me awake.
"Maxwell," he said warmly, voice rich with pride. "You're up."
The name hit me like a boot to the face. Maxwell? Not my real name. But in this world, it was mine.
The man knelt and set a hand on my shoulder. Power crackled at his touch, like static electricity but deeper, humming with magic. "You gave us a scare. Your fever lasted three days. But you're strong. Just like your father."
Strong? Father? Before I could untangle the puzzle, another presence swept into the room—this one colder. A woman, her dress sharp as her expression. Beauty carved in marble, dark hair pinned neatly, eyes carrying the weight of a hundred unspoken expectations.
"Maxwell." She crossed her arms. "No more running in the rain. You're the heir of the Ward family, not a street urchin."
I blinked. Heir? Family? Nobility?
My brain scrambled to catch up. Okay. Deep breaths. Analyze. I died. Reborn. Ten-year-old noble kid named Maxwell Ward. Rich family. Magic world.
And apparently, I was the firstborn son of a line so prestigious that even their disapproval sounded like law.
A groan escaped me. "God, this is insane."
"Language," the woman snapped.
Right. Strict mom.
The man—my new father—chuckled. "Let him rest, Selene. The boy just woke up."
She sighed, muttered something about discipline, and swept out.
I flopped back on the bed. Noble family, magic, strict mom, doting dad… I'd landed in one of those fantasy webnovels I used to read during all-nighters. Except now, I was the protagonist.
As if on cue, a knock rattled the door. Two tiny feet pattered in, and a girl with braids skipped toward me, grinning.
"Max! You're alive! I thought you were gonna die and I'd have to inherit everything!"
I stared. "Sister?"
She giggled. "Of course I'm your sister, dummy! Don't tell Mother I said that."
Then she leaned in and whispered conspiratorially: "But if you had died, I totally would've stolen your dessert forever."
Yep. Definitely a sibling. Two years younger, with the kind of innocent savagery only children could weaponize.
I sighed. "Great. I'm surrounded."
The days that followed were a crash course in my new identity. My name was Maxwell Ward, firstborn son of Lord Adrian Ward, one of the strongest sorcerers in the kingdom despite being only thirty-seven, and Lady Selene Ward, the strictest woman alive.
My grandfather, Duke Aldren Ward, was the richest man in the realm, his fortune built on potions, enchanted goods, and mana stone trade. Business-loving, shrewd, and terrifyingly clever. My grandmother, by contrast, was sweet enough to smother me in hugs and cakes until I nearly burst.
The family estate sprawled across green hills like a palace that had swallowed a dozen smaller palaces. Marble courtyards. Mana-lit fountains. Guards patrolling with enchanted spears. At night, glowing runes danced along the walls to ward off intruders.
It was all breathtaking. But also, in my eyes… hilariously outdated.
Mana stones powering lamps? Cute. But no Electricity? fine. Spellcasting rituals that took five minutes to charge? Inefficient.
This world was like someone had invented magic centuries ago and then… stopped innovating. No updates. No patches. No DLC.
Which meant one thing: opportunity.
The first sign of trouble—or amusement—came at dinner.
Extended family often joined us: uncles, cousins, and their smug smiles. Competition for the Duke's favor was as thick as the gravy poured over our roast venison.
One cousin, Cassian, leaned across the table, smirking at me. "Recovered from your little fever, Maxie? Try not to faint during your lessons. The family name is heavy, after all."
My sister snorted into her soup. "You're heavier."
I nearly choked laughing. Cassian's face flushed red, but before he could retort, Grandfather's booming laugh shook the hall.
"Sharp tongue, little one! She's a Ward through and through!"
The table erupted with polite chuckles. Cassian glared daggers at me, as though I'd orchestrated the whole thing. Which, to be fair, I hadn't… but I would happily take the credit.
Note to self: mischievous allies are invaluable.
That night, as I lay in my massive canopy bed, I pulled the curtains shut and whispered to myself.
"Alright, Maxwell. New world. New rules. But same brain."
I sketched imaginary blueprints in the air with my finger. Mana stone = battery. Runes = code. Spells = programs.
If this place ran on outdated magic… I could be the guy who invented Magic 2.0.
The possibilities sparkled like constellations above me. Communication crystals upgraded into global networks. Arcane storage restructured into cloud servers. Illusion spells retooled into virtual reality.
And of course… memes. Wizards desperately needed memes.
A week later, the call came. Literally.
I was in the dining hall, poking at roast pheasant, when a servant rushed in, holding a letter sealed with a shimmering crest.
"For Young Master Maxwell," he announced.
Every head turned—father, mother, sister, grandparents, a few extended relatives who always hovered like vultures around dinner. The seal pulsed with arcane light, unmistakable even to me.
My heart thudded. It couldn't be.
Father urged me on. "Go ahead, son. Break it."
Hands trembling, I cracked the seal. The letter unfurled itself and began to read aloud in a booming voice that echoed through the hall:
"To Maxwell Ward, firstborn of the House of Ward,You are hereby invited to attend the Aurelia Academy of Arcana,the most prestigious institution of magic in the realm.May your studies bring glory to your name and honor to your house."
The letter burst into golden sparks, leaving only silence behind.
My little sister gasped. "You're going to the Academy! The big, scary, floating one!"
Mother's eyes glistened with pride she refused to show. Father smiled, clapping my back so hard I nearly toppled. Grandfather raised his goblet with a grin, already calculating what profits his heir might someday bring.
Cassian muttered something under his breath, but Grandmother silenced him with a glare so sharp it could've shaved stone.
And me?
I sat frozen, staring at the fading sparks.
Magic academy. With classmates all over again, Noble rivals since this is still a somewhat medieval world. And an entire world running on magic like it was still stuck in the stone age.
My lips curled into a grin.
Perfect.
If this world thought I was going to be another pompous noble brat memorizing spells… well. They were in for an upgrade.
Because I was Maxwell Ward. A transmigrated programmer. A future engineer of magitech.
And the first thing I was going to do at this academy?
Hack magic itself.